the city. At the moment when a few Connecten knights finally began to appear.
When battered driblets from the Raffle and Peque and Sales began to arrive Count Alplicova ordered his Navayans to follow the Khaurenese. He remained unaware how few the Arnhander reinforcements would be. He had had no news from the Castaurigans, who were retreating past the city to the west.
It would be determined later that four thousand Arnhanders and allies perished in the day’s fighting. More died later from wounds. Navayan, Castaurigan, and allied losses amounted to fourteen hundred, more than a hundred of those being men taken prisoner.
Tormond IV’s Khaurenese militia suffered twenty-three casualties, six due to enemy action.
Brother Candle joined a grim, angry Isabeth. She had just dismissed men covered with filth and sweat and blood. The Perfect guessed their news had not been good. Finally, she said, “They think Peter is dead.”
The sun was low in the west. Its light poured in through high, arched windows, splashing the audience with gold. Not appropriate, Brother Candle thought.
Isabeth added, “Jaime is dead, too. The Castaurigans are withdrawing. They say they left the Arnhanders badly weakened. They killed a lot of fugitives from the fighting here.”
Brother Candle sighed, focused on the afternoon light. An omen of darkness to come. Turnabout on the old saw about darkest before the dawn.
A runner announced that the Khaurenese magnates had made up Tormond’s mind. They were on the move, back into the city, with never a blow struck.
Isabeth suddenly looked old. She told the Perfect, “Remember what Tormond was like last time you saw him.”
“It wasn’t that long ago, if you’ll recall.”
“Oh. Of course. But the Tormond who went out this morning was in worse shape than back then, despite all that wizards and physicians did. He shouldn’t have gone. But without Eardale Dunn we had no one else. Mas Crebet and Casteren Grout are bad jokes.” She meant the consuls, Khaurene’s equivalent of a mayor.
“There is Your Majesty,” Hodier observed.
“Crap. They won’t follow a woman.”
Brother Candle observed, “It might have been worth a try. But that opportunity has fled.”
“Who knows? Jaime is gone. Peter is gone. Tormond is next to extinct. Count Raymone is at the other end of the Connec and Regard is at the gate. So it comes down to me, anyway. We will find out who’ll follow a woman.”
The Perfect was at sea. He had been brought to Metrelieux to discuss a matter that had been pushed aside by subsequent news. The world had changed, for everyone, wherever they stood.
Isabeth said, “The lords of Navaya will be back, soon. That could get exciting. I need to steel myself.”
Brother Candle could see that. Without Peter to curb them the Direcians were likely to treat Khaurene as an occupied city instead of an ally and dependent. They would feel justified. The Khaurenese could have overwhelmed the Arnhanders but had chosen not to act.
That would not be forgiven.
“We need to be quick,” Hodier said.
Isabeth waved that off. “I became a queen mother today. But my son is practically still a baby. In the normal course Count Alplicova would become regent until Little Peter comes of age. I’ll push for that. But Fate was wearing her big stomping boots today. Dead or alive, I lost my brother, too. Dead or alive, he’ll no longer be a factor in the considerations of princes. Nor of the Patriarchs, whom Tormond did, at least, always make nervous.”
A minor chamberlain burst in. “A band of Brothen Episcopals led by Society brothers are trying to take control of the north gate.”
“They’re wearing colors?” Isabeth asked.
“They are, Your Majesty.”
“Then kill them. If they surrender, throw them off the wall.”
“Your Majesty?” Appalled.
“No exceptions. If they have families, kill them, too.”
Though appalled himself, Brother Candle did the cold equations. A show of ferocity now would save lives later. Nor could he summon much empathy for people who meant to burn him at the stake.
The chamberlain went away.
Isabeth said, “I’ll do everything I can till they come take it away.” She went silent for a moment. Brother Candle said nothing. Eloquently. Isabeth finally mused, “They killed King Jaime, too.”
Hodier murmured, “God willing, then, Death will claim King Regard, as well.”
“God willing. He’s been reported down several times. But he keeps getting back up.”
Brother Candle finally worked himself up to ask, “Why am I here?”
The Queen replied, “Because you’re an agent of and apologist for Count Raymone Garete.”
“I wouldn’t say that.”
“I would. You were Tormond’s friend. He thought. Mine, too, but not so much. My conscience wouldn’t trouble me if I had to drop you down a well. Count Raymone.”
“What about him?”
“Exactly. Tormond made Raymone his heir. The men best equipped to keep Raymone from inheriting all died today. I want to know what we can expect from Antieux. Does Count Raymone want to become Duke? What kind of man is he?”
“Yes to the first and stubborn to the latter. Count Raymone Garete is everything people always wanted Tormond to be, only twice as much. He’ll become Duke because that will give him the power to punish any foreigner who refuses to leave him, Antieux, and the Connec alone.”
“I might like this man better than the Count Raymone I remember.”
“A caution. If Raymone assumes the Dukedom, there’ll be war.”
“We’ve got war now.”
“I mean a war involving man, woman, and child, all out, until Raymone Garete draws his last breath. Or until Arnhand and Brothe fold their hands and direct their ambitions elsewhere. Even Raymone’s death might not be the end of it. The Countess, Socia, is more bloodthirsty than he is.”
Another underchamberlain rushed in. He reported that the captains of the militia, who had chosen to do nothing all day, were now in a demanding mood.
“Where is Alplicova? I want him here. Tell those people I’ll be with them shortly.”
It took more than a few minutes to locate Count Alplicova and chivvy him into the Queen’s presence. He was in no fit condition to be there. His wounds had not yet been treated. He had been busy readying Khaurene’s defenses rather than getting cleaned up and patched up.
Isabeth demanded, “Are you well enough to endure the demands of command, Count?”
“As ever, I will do what must be done. There is no one else.”
“You could be right. Collect some reliable men and bring them here. Quickly. The magnates are in a mood to make demands. After all they did for us today, on the battlefield, I’m not inclined to be indulgent.”
“I understand completely, Your Majesty.”
“Master.”
Isabeth’s sudden attention startled Brother Candle, who had slipped into a dark reverie. He failed to remind her that “Master” was inappropriate. “Your Grace?”
The Navayan Queen failed to remind him that she did not like being “Your Grace.” “I don’t have time for you, now. Keep yourself available.”
“As you wish.”
“At the moment I wish you to find my brother. Someone brought him back, I expect still breathing. Find him. Attach yourself. Take care of him. Hodier. You just became the Master’s shadow. Where he goes, you go. Do what he says needs doing.”
“As you command.” Said without pleasure.
The Perfect and the herald left the Queen’s presence, two old men glad to get away.
To the distress of few outside their own families Isabeth arrested the leaders of the Khaurenese militia.
